


marigolds

by oculata



Series: the beginning of forever [11]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 10x08, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Gap Filler, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, No Smut, Post-Coital Cuddling, Season/Series 10, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oculata/pseuds/oculata
Summary: Mickey and Ian settle down for the night.(pre-10x08 fill-in fic)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: the beginning of forever [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1524932
Comments: 20
Kudos: 269





	marigolds

**Author's Note:**

> quick one shot in preparation for the heartbreak that 10x08 is going to be. enjoy.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_clennam)
> 
> _**originally titled marigold lights._

“Ian, can you hurry it the fuck up? I’m about to start leaking your fuckin’ jizz all over this bed, and I ain’t sleepin’ in the wet spot,” Mickey chided from the bed, ass lifted up in the air and cheeks clenched together for dear life.

“Not my fault you threw the fucking towel halfway to China last night,” Ian shot back, picking through the various small puddles of clothes in his search.

Mickey chuckled, feeling his legs quivering. “Whatever.”

Ian finally located the towel and raced back to the bed, sliding it under his boyfriend’s hovering body. At that point, Mickey was finally able to relax, and so he lowered himself onto the towel with a relieved sigh before sprawling out dramatically across the bed.

“Jesus Christ,” Ian said with a joking eye roll as he cozied up against his boyfriend’s side and placed a hand on his chest. “You act like you were the one who was just nonstop plowing a dude into the bed.”

“Gettin’ plowed _is_ work,” Mickey shot back, sounding proud and a little offended that Ian would think otherwise. “Plus, trying to keep your come in my ass ‘til you finish your hide-and-seek game with the towel is really fuckin’ stressful. Think you should appreciate my efforts more.” He lightly jabbed Ian in the stomach with a knuckle.

Ian snickered as Mickey’s knuckle made contact with him and tickled him, and he momentarily jerked away from Mickey’s body. He propped himself up on an elbow and began slowly moving his hand across Mickey’s chest, trailing his palm along the curves of his pecs before circling around and dragging fingertips along his collarbones. Feeling Mickey—just touching his skin and feeling how soft it was; how he could imprint stripes of warmth along the cool flesh—was the thing he appreciated most about their post-coital bliss. He wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to how Mickey would melt down into the bed after sex and allow himself to be felt all over. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get used to it at all—it was the most peaceful thing watching Mickey be so utterly his, and he never wanted the feeling that it gave him to become stale.

The little noises that Mickey would make—tiny hums and moans and exhales from plush, parted lips—were his favorite. He liked how he could practically see how a certain touch made Mickey feel based on the kind of noises he made. Slow, long breaths meant that he was sinking into a state of relaxation; hums meant he was daydreaming about something that he would share with Ian later; moans meant that there was a brewing desire for a second or third round. And, as Ian had learned, the more his hand mingled around Mickey’s neck, the higher the chance became for the third option.

Today, though, Mickey was stressed about something, so Ian’s hand stayed closer to his chest and the upper part of his stomach, occasionally tickling him just because he liked the cute little giggles it produced. Mickey never complained—it felt good to laugh with Ian; _because_ of Ian.

“How was your day today?” Ian asked, watching Mickey’s chest rise and fall with his breath.

“Was alright,” Mickey said, not sounding too convincing. “Shit’s just kinda piled up. Don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, the word leaving his mouth on a smooth, sympathetic breath. He saw the corner of Mickey’s mouth quirk with anxiety, so he leaned over and pressed their lips together into a gentle kiss. When he lifted off, he was greeted by the image of Mickey smiling up at him, his eyes looking equal parts sleepy and admiring.

“How ‘bout yours?” Mickey wondered as he reached a hand up and began to run his fingers along the back of Ian’s head.

“About the same,” Ian replied. When he saw Mickey’s curious eyes on him, he tried to remember any highlights that he could share. Mickey was always so interested in the intricacies of his day, no matter how mundane—he just liked to hear that Ian was talking and laughing and _living_ before he came home to him. “I was really distracted while I was walking and almost went into this massive fucking puddle.”

Mickey laughed and wrapped his hand around the back of Ian’s neck.

“Seriously! Everyone around was practically screaming at me. Even the fucking dogs were barking at my dumbass. Then I got some tacos from this truck because I didn’t even know what to do with myself.”

“Graceful ballerina ass motherfucker,” Mickey teased, a mischievous look on his face.

Ian chuckled and moved his hand to cup Mickey’s cheek and jaw. His thumb stroked whatever skin he could reach, and he watched Mickey’s eyes droop closed after a brief battle to stay open. He raised his hand up again, and this time, he started to drag his forefinger between the freckles on Mickey’s cheeks, on his nose, and around his lips and eyes. The lighting in their bedroom was ugly, but sometimes, when the angle was just right, it beautifully illuminated the freckles that were usually drowned out by Mickey’s complexion.

Mickey was always gorgeous, but when they were together in their own section of the world where they could be their full, uninhibited, vulnerable selves, he seemed almost unearthly in his beauty.

But he knew Mickey wouldn’t believe him if he said that, even if he said it with his whole chest and swore on every divine entity there was. So he settled on the more practical statement of, “I really like your freckles, Mick.”

“Nah, man,” Mickey snorted sleepily. “They look dumb. How many guys with black hair also got freckles?”

Ian smiled. “Just one, and he’s the prettiest,” he said slowly and sincerely in an attempt to give each word as much meaning as he could muster.

Mickey’s eyes lifted open a touch, and he beamed at Ian. He felt a flush warm his cheeks. “Shut up.”

Ian’s grin just grew wider as he circled his finger around Mickey’s lips, feeling his gentle breath ghost against him as he moved about. Then he suddenly leaned down and pressed a kiss onto Mickey’s cheekbone, loving how he could feel it rise up under his lips from Mickey’s smile.

“Really love those freckles,” Ian whispered into the space between them once he lifted back up.

He kept at it for a long while, savoring everything he adored about the love of his life until Mickey’s body twitched a little and his breath altered, indicating that he had fallen asleep. Ian placed a featherlight kiss onto Mickey’s cheek and admired him some more, taking awe in the fact that he had everything he ever wanted cradled in his arms.


End file.
